Paperwork
by Mirach
Summary: Aziraphale is filling the paperwork required to get a new body. In the report about his discorporation (involving Arthur, Mordred and a knight in black armour), he has to bend the truth a little. One can't admit fraternising with the enemy in an official document, after all...


SECTION 1: CORPORATION SPECIFICATIONS

**Part 1: Atomic and molecular specifications**

Body mass:

Water content:

Total number of atoms:

Carbon atoms:

Oxygen atoms:

Hydrogen atoms: ...

* * *

Aziraphale stared at the top one from the mountain of papers on the table. It wasn't his table. He did not have one in Heaven, probably the only angel without one. He spent most of the time on Earth anyway, so when he one day found his old cubicle removed in favour of a whiteboard with markers, he did not protest.

He found a free one in the corner, then sighed and started filling the empty columns. He was just starting with

* * *

**Part 13: The corporation's full nuclear DNA sequence**

Chromosome 8, copy 1:

* * *

when he felt someone standing behind his back.

TTAGGGTTAGGGTTAG...

"Aziraphale!"

GGTTAGGG...

"Good to see you here! Discorporated, right? Shame about that, but still, good job down there... I guess."

TTA...

"Oh, thank you very much, Gabriel. I really appreciate that."

GGG...

"Yeah... was that the one with the Vikings?"

"Knights of the Round Table."

"Ah, yes. Nice ornate belts, they had. I think I should get one."

Aziraphale smiled politely, trying not to lose track of where he was in his corporation's telomeres. At least they did not shorten with every cell division like human ones.

TTAGGGTT...

"And speaking about tables... We will need this one for a briefing, so could you please move?"

"Oh, no problem at all." Aziraphale stood up right away and gathered the papers. Several dropped to the floor. He bent for them, balancing the heap in his hands. He walked slowly, trying to not drop anything again. Gabriel's impatient look accompanied him until he was out of the archangel's field of view.

He found another empty table down the hall and put down the papers. It took a while to put the pages into the correct order. Now, where was he? Chromosome 8, copy 1, telomere, repetitive sequence number... number... He sighed and started counting the repetitive sequences again.

* * *

A long time and many papers later:

* * *

SECTION 18: DISCORPORATION DETAILS

**Part 1: Injuries sustained to the corporation**

(please indicate slashing and piercing injuries with full-line/dot, blunt trauma with a dashed line, broken bones with zigzag line)

* * *

There was a silhouette of a figure drawn from the front and back view, with enough blank space around to indicate the placement of wounds on the figure and match them with a verbal description.

He drew a straight line combined with a few zigzag ones across the figure's left shoulder and upper ribcage and mirrored it in the back view. Then he encompassed the whole area around it within a dashed line.

_He just deflected a blow from the side that was meant for Arthur. That was what he had been doing: defending the king. Not attacking or actually killing anyone, just deflecting the blows from those who attacked them. That had one disadvantage, though - it did not decrease the number of enemies. _

_He did not see the poleaxe bearing down on him. It cut deeply through his armour, crushing his collarbone and upper ribs, filling his left lung with blood. His vision darkened. The sounds of battle faded. All he could perceive was a sharp, all-consuming pain, and the taste of blood in his mouth, choking on it. _

He stared at the drawing for a moment, the taste of blood still in his mouth even though he was fully aware that he left that corporation with all its spilt blood back there.

He took a steadying breath and then drew a zigzag line across the right forearm and three dots on the right side of the figure's ribcage, again surrounded by a big area within a dashed line. That's what you get from wearing full plate armour. Very few things can pierce it, but those that can usually do so through brute force and it tends to be nasty.

_Through the haze of pain, he saw a black-clad armoured figure, approaching with a heavy mace. For a short moment, a smile appeared on his blood-stained lips... then he realized it was not who he thought it was. The black knight did not pay any attention to the fallen white one. He went for the king. _

_Aziraphale saw the heavy mace with nasty spikes descending on Arthur's head. His shield arm was useless, dangling at his side. It cost him a miracle to rise and block the blow with his sword. Swords are not meant for blocking maces. The blunt force broke his forearm and sent him to his knees. Then the spiked mace returned, hitting him from below into the right side of his chest, breaking another few ribs. He passed out from the pain._

* * *

**Part 2: Miracles performed before discorporation**

Your miracle capacity in the previous corporation:

List of miracles performed from the last time of full capacity to discorporation:

Miracle capacity at the moment of discorporation:

...

* * *

Aziraphale bit his lip, looking at the section for a while. He filled the first column automatically and hesitated over the second. He left it blank for now, then put the pen to the last column and wrote a big "0".

Then, slowly, he started to fill the second column.

_From a great distance, the sounds started coming back. He took a broken, shuddering breath and felt like choking on his own blood. He started coughing, blood pouring from his mouth, chest convulsing. The pain that erupted in various places made him almost pass out again. A miracle. It would take a miracle to keep his body from discorporating. He didn't know if he had enough strength for one. A little healing miracle now, some rest, then another little one... that could work. He clenched his teeth and prepared himself. Then he noticed Arthur, lying just a few steps away. _

_There was a nasty wound on the king's head and a lot of blood pooling under him, but he was still drawing breath - barely. His armour was dented in several places - Aziraphale recognized the too-familiar traces of the spiked mace. He crawled to the king, one painful inch after another. _

_It was not a little miracle. He reached to the very bottom of what he had, leaving nothing for himself. As darkness enveloped him again, he did not even know if it was enough. _

He listed the miracles in his careful, elegant writing. Every miraculously-averted blow in the battle, every enemy losing his footing when approaching the king. The last block, the healing... His pen hovered above the paper as if he wanted to add something more, but he decided against it, for now. Instead, he turned the page to the next question.

* * *

**Part 3: Circumstances of discorporation**

Time of discorporation:

Witnesses:

Exact description of the situation:

* * *

The pen shook above the paper.

_"Aziraphale! No no no no... Wake up! Aziraphale!"_

_That voice. He struggled to open his eyes. He knew that voice. It was hoarse and laced with pain, but he would recognize it anywhere. That was the right knight in black armour. _

_"Cro-" _

_A coughing fit shook his body, sending jolts of agony through it. Still, he managed to open his eyes and catch a glimpse of golden irises. Iris. Only one eye was open. The other one was swollen shut, blood trickling down the side of the face, dried blood sticking in the hair. _

_"Easy there..." A hand in black glove extended towards him and lifted his visor, allowing him a better look._

_"Crowley?" Aziraphale whispered when he was finally able to draw a shaky breath. "What... are you doing here?"_

_"Same as you..." the demon replied with a mirthless smile. "Dying." _

_Aziraphale focused his look on the rest of Crowley besides his eyes. The demon did not exaggerate. He looked like Aziraphale felt. He was lying on the ground next to the angel, a bloody trace visible where he dragged himself to reach him. _

_"Oh dear..." Aziraphale looked at him in horror. "I am so sorry. I fear I have no miracles left..."_

_"Same here," the demon sighed with deep weariness and something akin to regret. "No miracles. Very sorry." _

_He pushed himself closer to Aziraphale, grimacing in pain with the movement. _

_Aziraphale tensed, his eyes suddenly widening in fear._

_Crowley stopped in the middle if the movement. But he was not the reason of the angel's panic._

_"Arthur!" Aziraphale gasped. "Where... He was right here..." _

_"They carried him away," Crowley said quietly._

_"Did... did he live?"_

_"From what I saw, yes. But he didn't look too well."_

_"Oh no... I could not heal him more..." Aziraphale rasped, his voice trailing off into another coughing fit._

_"Easy, angel..." Crowley's hand wiped the blood that trickled down his chin, strangely soothing. "You can't do anything about it now. But your lungs are filling with blood. Remember you don't need to breathe..."_

_"Right..." Aziraphale nodded weakly, consciously stopping his lungs from their rhythmic work. It used to be the other way around in the first centuries of his corporation - he had to remember to breathe. Now he had to remember he didn't need to, and still it felt wrong. But a little less painful. "That's better… thanks..." he smiled faintly._

_"Hey, at least he was alive when I last saw him..." Crowley sighed. "I spent what I had left in miracles on Mordred and he still died on me. Bastard." His look went somewhere to the side. Aziraphale saw a familiar figure in black armour lying there, apparently dead._

_"Literally," Aziraphale couldn't help himself adding._

_That elicited a chuckle from Crowley, and a little spark of pleasure for being able to do that in Aziraphale._

_"Really, if I knew, I wouldn't have wasted it. Could have healed you instead..."_

_"Or yourself."_

_"I guess." Crowley clenched his teeth as a wave of pain washed over him._

_"I didn't know you cared for Mordred that much."_

_"Nah. He was an insolent prick. Had orders from Below... to keep him alive... at any price..." He grimaced._

_"Oh."_

_"Yeah. Not looking forward to asking for a new corporation. Your first time?"_

_"No. But... usually faster." The angel moaned. "Never... this painful."_

_"Try to focus on something else than pain. It will be okay... just a few hours to endure..."_

_"Hours? I... I can't... Please, Crowley. Could you kill me?"_

_"Sorry, angel," the demon sighed regretfully. "I fear I don't have it in me to move anymore... I didn't notice you until after Mordred died. Damn visors..."_

_Aziraphale bit his lip. "You... have some experience with this?"_

_"Painful discorporations? One or two. More with pain in general. Demon, remember? Not that bad, this one." _

_"Not that bad... as what? Hell's punishment for messing up?"_

_"Yes," Crowley murmured before he caught himself. "No! No, I did not mean that. I meant Falling, duh..." he amended himself through gritted teeth. A gush of fresh blood oozed from a deep dent in his armour. _

_"Maybe... maybe it doesn't need to end in discorporation..." the demon continued despite the blood. "We could try to rest... see if we can get a little miracle just to stop dying..."_

_"I guess... we could... if you stay..."_

_Crowley snorted. "Where would I go, angel?"_

_Aziraphale whimpered, overwhelmed by pain. _

_He felt a cold hand weakly brushing his fingers. He forced them to move despite the pain in the shattered shoulder and grasped the hand with a desperate grip. It was returned immediately._

_The time passed, torturously slow seconds washing over them._

_"I'm sorry, Crowley..." Aziraphale rasped. _

_"And for what now, angel?" Crowley's voice sounded weak and worn out._

_"For not accepting your proposal... It didn't need to be this way..."_

_"Ah, I see. No matter pondering that now. Maybe it would be like this anyway... they saw Mordred as ideal ruler material Below."_

_"I guess they would."_

_"Right. So, it's a draw still."_

_"Yes. Next time, I will accept. When we meet again... we can make some arrangement, maybe..."_

_"If we meet again," the demon murmured darkly and Aziraphale felt a cold shiver running down his pained body._

_"If?"_

_"After this, I'm not sure when they will give me a new corporation. Or if."_

_"Then... Then let's focus on not dying, alright?" he pressed the demon's hand encouragingly. _

_"Yeah, that would be awesome," Crowley replied with dark sarcasm, but pressed his hand back. _

_So, they focused on not dying. They distracted each other from the pain, recalling familiar places, the food they tasted together, the different kinds of alcohol they tried since humanity mastered the wonders of fermentation. The hours of night were passing in the pace of an inebriated snail. Their voices were getting quieter, the grip of their hands weaker. _

_The dawn found them in exhausted sleep. Such a thin border, between sleeping and death. _

_Aziraphale woke as soon as the pain got stronger than exhaustion, and he wished he hadn't. He wished it would end already, one way or another. He reached within himself, searching for an echo of strength to do a miracle, at least a little one. _

_Doing so, he looked at Crowley. The demon's one healthy eye was closed, his breath shallow. He did not react when Aziraphale pressed his hand. _

_He found it! A little bit of strength for a minor miracle, something to prevent himself from discorporating and give him more time to gather his strength for a bigger one - if it worked. He had some doubts. Maybe it wouldn't be enough. Maybe it would just prolong the suffering..._

_He looked at Crowley again and suddenly he was decided. He reached for that echo of strength and started healing the demon. _

_For himself, discorporation would mean a mountain of paperwork. To Crowley though, it would mean punishment. Maybe they would not even allow him to come back again. There had apparently been high stakes on Mordred in Hell. Heaven did not have such interest in Arthur though; he was becoming a bit of annoyance to them, with his insistent search for the Holy Grail. Aziraphale had no doubts about what he was doing. _

_He pushed the pain aside and continued healing even when he felt the strength leaving him. That should be enough, he thought. Enough to stop dying and start healing, if Crowley added a little miracle of his own. He got a bit of rest, he should have one now..._

_Aziraphale's thoughts were getting muddled. He had nothing left: nothing for healing, nothing for living. He felt cold spreading through his body, darkness approaching from the corners of his vision. And in the middle of that darkness... _

_A golden serpent eye, looking at him, full of sorrow and warmth. He did not feel cold anymore._

_"Aziraphale..." Crowley called him, but he no longer heard it._

* * *

The pen was lowered to the paper. "06:18:22 AM", it wrote into the first column.

"Unknown noble knight," it wrote into the second one.

Before getting to the third column, Aziraphale flipped a dozen of pages back, to the List of miracles performed from the last time of full capacity to discorporation. He added "healing an injured unknown knight" as the last point to the list and nodded to himself. Now the math should check out.

Then he returned to the Exact Description of the Situation in Circumstances of Discorporation section and started describing his last hours, _giving moral support to a grievously injured knight_. That did not sound half bad, he had to admit. And it was not a direct lie. He merely omitted a few details.

"Ah, here you are, Aziraphale!"

Direct lie or not, Gabriel's voice made him jump. Probably would have even while filing some perfectly innocent report, though.

"Do you need the table?" he asked, already standing up.

"No, no, sit down," Gabriel said, so Aziraphale did, sitting on the edge of the seat. Gabriel remained standing, towering above him. He was wearing a white and grey brocade tunic with an ornate silver belt.

"I was just checking those knights of yours," the archangel said. "It seems that Hell had a big interest in establishing Mordred as a tyrant king. Good job with thwarting that."

Aziraphale nodded tensely.

"You have been down there quite long, haven't you?" Gabriel continued. "You know what? You won't need this," he snapped his fingers and the hill of papers in front of Aziraphale simply disappeared.

The angel winced. His fingers went white in their grip on the pen, but he didn't say anything, waiting for explanation.

"You deserve a reward. A desk job up here, far from that muddy Earth. You can stay home. Awesome, right?"

Aziraphale froze. His mouth hung open, but any attempts at formulating words proved futile.

Gabriel patted him on the shoulder. "I knew you would be speechless from joy!"

"N-No," Aziraphale finally managed to stammer. "No, I don't deserve this. I left my job down there unfinished."

"Really? I thought Mordred was dead."

"Yes, right, but the demon responsible for the affair is still quite active. He will find another pawn."

"Well, let the next operative deal with him. What's his name? Crawly?"

"_Crowley_. And it is my job. Look… I really am not made for a desk job. I enjoy the terrain work, the fresh air, the thrill of thwarting the plans of evil, getting to know my enemy… all that stuff, you know? I would really like to continue doing that, if you intend to reward me."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and then shrugged, as if he didn't really care. "Fine, if you want it that way. Go on with your paperwork then."

Aziraphale watched the empty table in front of him, but all he was able to feel was relief. "Right," he smiled. "I will get a new copy. Thank you for your consideration."

Gabriel was already walking away, not looking at him anymore.

Aziraphale waited until Gabriel was out of sight and then left as well. In a moment he returned with new papers.

* * *

SECTION 1: CORPORATION SPECIFICATIONS

**Part 1: Atomic and molecular specifications**

Body mass:

Water content:

Total number of atoms:

* * *

He did not stop until he got to

* * *

SECTION 31:

NEW CORPORATION SPECIFICATIONS

**Part 22: Statistics**

HP:

STR:

DEX:

CHAR:

* * *

He shortly considered asking for a body that would be a little stronger and more resilient, but quickly decided against it. He filled all columns identically to his previous corporation and finished the rest of the paperwork.

* * *

_Later, in an inn somewhere in Britain_

"You are looking much better."

"When did I not look good?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. You're not covered by blood, for a start."

"Relax, angel. I know what you mean. You are quite late, though. They didn't… punish you for healing a demon, did they?"

"A demon?" Aziraphale made an innocent face. "What demon? I merely healed a fellow knight. I did not clearly see through his helmet, so I don't know what he looked like."

Crowley snickered. "Yes, of course. So, what took you so long?"

"Paperwork."

The demon made a sympathetic sound.

"What about your side?" the angel asked. "They didn't try to seek you out?"

"I've been lying low for a while. Soon they will forget about it. As soon as another assignment shows up, I guess."

"I'll be around, just to make sure."

"Thanks."

"So, about that proposal of yours…"

"Yes?"

"Let's call it an Arrangement, shall we?"

* * *

**Notes**:

Thanks to my beta LoveIsEternal at AO3!

Telomeres are repeating sequences at both ends of a chromosome, which don't code anything and serve as a margin that can be cut off with each division of the cell, because the cell can't replicate the few nucleotids at the very end of the strand. A bit of cheating from my side, because I didn't feel like looking up an actual coding sequence from chromosome 8 :)

I treat the miracles a bit like wizard spells in DnD, as can also be assumed by Section 22 of the paperwork :)


End file.
